


Love’s Such an Old-Fashioned Word

by NoShipsLikePartnerships



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Drunken Epiphanies, Karaoke, Kissing, M/M, well okay those last three are more like cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 03:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShipsLikePartnerships/pseuds/NoShipsLikePartnerships
Summary: Once their turn came, Hermann allowed himself to be led up to the stage, and into the unknown, not for the first time that day.Still riding the high of the Drift, and the wave of euphoria from having helped save the world, performing a karaoke duet together seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.





	Love’s Such an Old-Fashioned Word

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to "Under Pressure" the other day and was hit with the mental image of Newt and Hermann singing it at karaoke (with Newt covering Freddie Mercury's parts of the song, and Hermann covering the David Bowie bits) so this happened. It was meant to just be a silly little thing, but ended up turning into a short reflection on Drifting and Feelings, oops.

The world had, rather improbably, not ended. 

The world had not ended and so, naturally, there was only one thing to do: party as if it were about to.

Hermann wasn’t usually one for such gatherings but, given the circumstances, he felt that he could make an exception. After he and Newt had finally been released from the infirmary, they’d headed straight to the recreation room, where the rest of the PPDC personnel were gathered. All things considered, they felt well enough, and neither of them was bleeding anymore, at least. They both sported matching subconjunctival hemorrhages, though, which they had been told would clear up in about a week. “It makes us look badass, trust me,” Newt had said, but Hermann somewhat doubted that, as the looks they received were more along the lines of ‘alarmed’ or ‘trying not to stare,’ rather than ‘impressed.’

The evening started off with a tribute to those they’d lost—to celebrate was to honor them and their sacrifices—and then, unsurprisingly, turned to drinking. Lots and lots of drinking.

There was, as it turned out, no shortage of alcohol in the Shatterdome, although there might be once the night was over.

Long tables had been brought in from the mess hall, and were filled with food and drinks, as people from every department sat, and talked, and laughed, and in some cases, cried, though they mostly seemed to be tears of relief and joy. It was an understandable sentiment. After everything, it was almost hard to believe that it was finally over. That they had _won_.

There was a thrill in the air that was almost tangible.

Less tangible, but also in the air, was the music drifting throughout the room, coupled with the amateur voices of the deeply inebriated. Hermann admired their enthusiasm, even if the sound of it made him wince a little.

Speakers stood on either side of a makeshift stage that had been set up at the back of the room, a wooden plank that was only a couple of inches off the floor, for which Hermann was grateful. Not that he had been planning on participating. Normally, he would have been mortified at the very thought, would have never had the courage to get up there, and yet somehow he had agreed to it anyway. He wasn’t sure where Tendo had even managed to find a karaoke machine on such short notice, but the man did work in mysterious ways.

“Dude, _yes_!” Newt exclaimed as he browsed the song catalogue and, after knocking back the rest of his drink and slamming the glass onto the table, went to sign them up. Hermann was almost afraid to find out which song he had selected, but he was feeling bolder than usual that night. Once their turn came, Hermann allowed himself to be led up to the stage, and into the unknown, not for the first time that day. 

Still riding the high of the Drift, and the wave of euphoria from having helped save the world, performing a karaoke duet together seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

At some point during the evening’s festivities, Hermann had somehow managed to lose track of both his jacket _and_ his sweater. Newt, meanwhile, was still wearing his dirt-stained and bloodied shirt, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos in all their monstrous glory, and had relocated his tie so that it was now fastened sideways around his head. Hermann was sure that they looked quite the pair.

He prepared himself for the worst but, as the music started and he recognized the melody, a smileslowly spread across his face. He looked to Newt, who winked at him in encouragement. Yes, this would do. This would do very nicely, indeed.

Steadying himself with his cane, Hermann gripped the microphone, took a deep breath, and—

_“Pressure,”_ they began, _“pushing down on me, pressing down on you...”_

As they sang, Hermann wasn’t certain which of them had listened to this song on repeat while writing their dissertation, and which of them had just thought it a pleasant enough tune on the radio—both memories felt like they were his own. In that moment, they both knew the lyrics by heart, neither needing to rely on the words displayed on the small screen before them. They moved seamlessly and effortlessly along with the beat, perfectly in sync with the music, and with each other. He imagined that this must be how the Jaeger pilots felt when they fought. Every thought, every step, every heartbeat and breath, taken together, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

In fact, it was suddenly hard to believe that they hadn’t always been that way. Hermann had not doubted, not even for one instant, that he and Newt would be Drift compatible. Had not even hesitated before offering to accompany him. 

_“Pray tomorrow gets me higher...”_

It hadn’t been because of certain worldwide destruction that he’d had no choice but, rather, because it was Newt, so of course there hadn’t really been a choice at all. Especially after seeing the state he’d been in after Drifting on his own. 

He’d had the briefest glimpse of a world without Newton Geiszler in it, and had rejected the possibility with every fibre of his being.

Of course Hermann would go with him.

Together, like they always were.

Like they always had been, really.

And, if he were being honest with himself, Hermann hoped that wouldn’t change now that the war was over. Anyone who didn’t know them (and quite a few that did) might have expected them to be elated at the possibility of finally getting away from each other, but it was quite the opposite. From their first correspondence, to sharing a lab for half a decade, they were intricately, _hopelessly_ , entangled in each other’s lives. Hermann didn’t know what he would do without him. 

He desperately did not want to find out.

_“It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about, watching some good friends screaming—”_

_“—Let me out!”_

Despite their disastrous first meeting, the almost constant bickering, and arguments that sometimes lasted for days, there was no one else in the world who knew him so well. There was no one else that he himself knew in the same way. And that was before they’d Drifted.

The experience had been brief but intense, and he hadn’t had time to fully process it yet. However, after being in Newt’s head, Hermann found that every insecurity, every defense mechanism, now made sense to him. It had all just... fallen into place, and he knew that it had gone both ways. Drifting had granted them a sort of understanding that they’d previously lacked, and that made a world of difference.

_“Keep coming up with love but it’s so slashed and torn—”_

_“Why, why, whyyy—”_

Hermann tried not to laugh as Newt screeched out this part of the song while shaking an impassioned fist at the ceiling. The man really was a natural-born performer.

_“Can’t we give ourselves one more chance? Why can’t we give love that one more chance?”_

Something flowed between them, then, tugging at his heart, and Hermann struggled to put a name to it. It was something that, he realized, had always been there. He had buried it, tucked it safely away into a corner of his being where it couldn’t be seen, or hurt, for so long that he almost didn’t recognize it. 

He had never expected it to be reciprocated.

_“Why can’t we give love, give love, give love...”_

They turned to face each other as they sang, and the feeling spread throughout his chest, and it was suddenly so _obvious_ that he almost choked on the words that he was singing.

_“Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word, and love dares you to care for the people on the—”_

_“People on streets—”_

_“—edge of the night, and love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves...”_

Newt’s expression shifted subtly, softening, and Hermann felt his heart catch in his throat.

_“This is our last dance, this is ourselves... under pressure.”_

As the music faded, they stood, still staring at each other, and it wasn’t until they heard the sound of applause that they finally remembered that there were other people in the room. Turning, Hermann felt his cheeks grow warm.

Looking out into the crowd, he spotted their friends cheering. Well, perhaps ‘friends’ was a bit ambitious. They had each played an instrumental part in saving the world, though, so that ought to count for something. Mako had a knowing look on her face, and leaned over to whisper something to Raleigh. His eyes widened as he looked at the stage, then back to her, and nodded in bemused agreement. Beside them, Tendo watched with a sly smile of approval.

Hermann pretended not to know what any of that was about.

After a literal mic drop from Newt—Hermann placed his own mic down carefully on top of the speaker beside him—he grabbed Hermann’s hand and, together, they gave their audience a sweeping bow. With his free hand, Newt threw up the sign for ‘Rock On’, before helping Hermann off the stage.

Later, Newt would insist that they weren’t half bad, though Hermann suspected that, based on the reactions of the crowd, each individual’s enjoyment of their performance was largely dependent on the level of alcohol that they’d consumed.

Regardless, his lab partner had a point— being a rockstar _did_ feel quite good.

It was honestly some of the most fun Hermann could remember having in his adult life, although he supposed that wasn’t really saying much. Seeing as a good deal of that time had consisted of trying to stop an alien invasion, there hadn’t been many opportunities for fun.

Once they made it back to their table, Tendo came up to them, smiling broadly. “You guys killed it up there!” He gave Newt a high-five and clapped Hermann on the back.

Newt leaned over and playfully nudged Hermann’s shoulder with his own. “Yeah, you survived.”

“Indeed.” Hermann ducked his head, feeling a little self-conscious about how much he’d enjoyed himself. “It was... not an unpleasant experience.”

“So, what do you say?” Newt asked. “Encore?”

“Encore, encore!” Mako chanted, and urged the others to join in. Newt raised an eyebrow and looked at Hermann expectantly.

Hermann grinned.

***

Hours later, they stumbled out of the the party and down the hall, laughing and, Hermann noted, still holding hands. After a rousing rendition of “Don’t Stop Believing”—he was going to have that song stuck in his head for _days_ , now—Newt had pulled him off the stage and out the door (“Always leave ’em wanting more!”) and had yet to let go. 

He didn’t know what time it was, but guessed that it was somewhere between ‘very late at night’ and ‘very early in the morning’, depending on one’s point of view. At any rate, the hallway was empty, their colleagues either still partying or already turned in for the night, though Hermann wasn’t sure he would have cared even if it hadn’t been. 

Although he’d lost track of just how many drinks he’d had over the course of the evening, he found that he was not so much ‘drunk’ as he was ‘pleasantly buzzed’. The same seemed to be true for Newt, though he’d always been better at holding his liquor. All the same, neither of them seemed to be particularly well-coordinated at the moment. 

_“Hold on to that feeeeling,”_ Newt sang, giggling, and almost tripped over his own feet. Hermann reached out a hand to steady him, nearly dropping his cane in the process.

Well, perhaps they were _slightly_ drunk.

They made it all the way to the living quarters before Newt cleared his throat and finally dropped Hermann’s hand, much to Hermann’s disappointment. Newt’s room was closest, and they stood outside it awkwardly. “Well,” he announced unnecessarily, “this is me.”

Hermann felt a pang in his chest now that the evening seemed to be drawing to a close. His brain shouted at him to say something, anything, in order to make it last just a little longer. “I—” he began, and was at a complete loss as to how to continue the rest of the sentence.

“Um,” Newt said at the same time. He looked at Hermann with uncharacteristic hesitation, more earnest and vulnerable than Hermann remembered ever having seen him. He licked his lips, then seemed to come to a decision.

Newt moved forward, gently pushed Hermann up against the door, and kissed him.

Hermann was simultaneously surprised and not surprised at all, had been hoping for this exact outcome all along. Had been expecting it, even, although he hadn’t realized it until just then.

It was, quite possibly, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Hermann kissed him back, not nearly as gently, though Newt didn’t seem to mind.

Unlike their earlier harmony onstage, this was much more chaotic, but not in an unwelcome way. Their hands traveled from each other’s shoulders, to their faces, to their hair, to the folds of their shirts, trying to find purchase, eagerly exploring in a way they never had. 

They also had to keep in mind that breathing was still a thing that needed to be done, and occasionally were forced to come up for air, although those pauses were few and far between.

As much as Hermann was enjoying himself—and he was, _very_ much so—he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest prickling of doubt at the back of his mind.

He knew that emotions could be complicated between Drift partners. It could be difficult, sometimes, to hold on to one’s sense of self, to be sure of whose thoughts and feelings were whose. He wanted to be certain that wasn’t the case. Maybe it didn’t need to be asked—they’d both felt it, he knew that they had—but he needed to hear it said aloud.

He needed to know that he hadn’t just been deluding himself this whole time.

Reluctantly, Hermann broke away, moving just far back enough to speak.

“Wait." 

Two sets of memories, he reminded himself. _Two_.

“When did you first know?” he asked breathlessly. 

“From that first letter,” Newt replied, panting. His breath was hot against Hermann’s skin, though it made him shiver. “Your ideas were fascinating, and you just really _got_ me, you know?” He ran a finger along Hermann’s jawline. “You?” 

“The moment I saw that ridiculous picture of yours on the MIT faculty website.” Hermann could still see the image very clearly in his mind: a young Newt, hair sticking up in all directions, glasses askew, a guitar strap slung across his chest, and a lopsided grin.

“Ridiculous?” Newt pulled away from him and looked mildly offended. “It was cool!" 

“It was most certainly not ‘cool’ and, frankly, I don’t know how you expected to be taken seriously as an instructor,” Hermann said, then smiled fondly. “It was, however, quite adorable.”

“Well, I _am_ pretty cute,” Newt agreed. “So, I was into you because of your brain, and you were into me because of my looks, huh?” he teased. “Not gonna lie, Hermann, that’s a little bit shallow.”

Hermann’s face reddened. “That’s not what I—”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Newt said hurriedly, and tugged at the collar of Hermann’s shirt. “Now, shut up and kiss me.” Hermann was only too happy to oblige.

Newt was irritating, and infuriating, and beautiful, and brilliant, and Hermann had never wanted anything more.

He had one hand on his cane, and one hand tangled in Newt’s hair. His fingers brushed up against the tie still around Newt’s head, and hastily removed it, as it was in his way. Newt’s hand, meanwhile, had found its way to Hermann’s belt. Hermann paused, pulling away again. “Perhaps we should take this inside?” he suggested.

Newt made an impatient sound as he fumbled with the lock, and they both almost fell into the room when the door finally opened behind them.  

Bounding inside, Newt unceremoniously kicked off his boots and threw himself backward onto the bed. 

Hermann pulled the door closed behind him, taking in his surroundings, and it was all so wonderfully _Newt_ , in a way he’d never really appreciated before. Posters of obscure bands and old monster movies adorned the walls, while kaiju figurines and other memorabilia sat on every available surface. Books and papers covered a desk in the corner of the room and, unsurprisingly, articles of clothing were strewn randomly across the floor and desk chair. He shrugged, and dropped Newt’s tie down to join the mess.

He noticed a guitar leaning against the far wall and, though he’d never laid hands on the instrument, Hermann found that he possessed the memory of strumming its strings, taut against calloused fingers that were not his own.

Maybe Newt would play it for him someday.

Hermann lowered himself down to sit on the other side of bed. He leaned his cane against the wall and bent to remove his own shoes, placing them carefully on the floor so as not to trip over them in the morning. 

When he turned around, he saw that Newt had fallen asleep. Hermann shook his head and huffed out a quiet laugh.

Newt had always been able to fall asleep anywhere, at any time, and it was an ability that Hermann had always envied. Given the nature and urgency of their work, they’d kept odd hours, always trying to get whatever sleep they could, whenever they could. It had always been difficult for him, and Hermann knew that he would be awake for a while yet. Moreover, between the adrenaline and the alcohol, not to mention their recent... _activity_ , he was well and truly wired, even if he was exhausted.

Reaching over, he carefully removed Newt’s glasses, setting them down on the nightstand, then shifted to lie down beside him. The bed was a bit small for two people, but he certainly didn’t mind, and moved a little closer. 

Newt’s steady breathing was the only sound in the darkness, the rise and fall of his chest the only movement, and Hermann found that comforting. It was the kind of still and calmness that he had rarely known. For the first time in years, he felt that he could actually rest, without that crushing weight on his shoulders. Because the world had not ended. They would pick up where they’d left off tomorrow, of that much he was certain. There was actually a tomorrow to look forward to, now, and so many tomorrows after that. So he was happy to watch Newt sleep, to savour every moment of peace that they had both worked so hard for, that they had _earned_.

Newt would be the last thing Hermann saw that night, and the first thing he saw when he woke up, and that was more than fine with him.

It was perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom, and the first fic I've written/posted in over a decade, so I hope it wasn't too OOC. Feedback is welcome :) Also, man I had a lot of fun with these two, and hope to write them again soon!


End file.
